Derek was… getting married? Correction, he was looking for someone to marry. He, a future Earl, was searching for his countess. Stiles had known this would happen eventually, but it still made him queasy.
He needed to distract himself for a minute, but he couldn't seem to find Scott anywhere. Turning a corner, he found not Scott, but Liam. The scribe's eyes widened slightly at Stiles' sudden appearance, and he tried to turn and hurry away, but Stiles caught him by the shoulder.
"Liam! Good man!" Stiles greeted loudly. Liam winced but then smiled.
"H-Hello. Um. I was actually heading out to-uh-"
"I'm not asking you to write anything," Stiles said, cutting off the excuse. "I'm just looking for Scott."
Liam cast his eyes about for the answer, as though it would be written on the walls. "Uh, he's in the study. Mom too. I mean! His mom. Lady McCall. Not my mom." He shifted awkwardly. "But they're busy. Real busy. Scott- Baron Posey says you should go for a walk. –Because of your rough night. That's what he said."
Frowning, Stiles released the young scribe and crossed his arms. "How does Scott know I had a rough night?"
Liam shrugged and finally looked nonplussed. "I don't know. I just work here."
"Yeah? Well, I don't believe that for a second." Stiles pursed his lips. "Something is going on. Tell me what it is."
"Scott said you should go for a walk," Liam repeated. "Because he's busy."
"What is he doing that I can't be present for? Is he planning some kind of surprise party?" He tried to use his height to loom over and intimidate the scribe, but Liam had found his nerve.
He pushed his lower lip out in a sign of innocence. "I just know what he said."
Sighing, Stiles ran a hand over his face. "Fine. I understand. You're not going to budge. Damn. Scott knows a loyal dog when he sees one." He turned his gaze toward the back of the house, thinking about the large yard and its animals.
"Hey!" Liam complained. "Who are you calling a dog?"
Walking sounded boring. Maybe he'd go riding.
"Are you ignoring me?" Liam fumed and tried to get up in Stiles' face.
Stiles put a hand out, smack dab in the center of Liam's face, and pushed the younger man back several steps. "Calm down, my dedicated apprentice. A good scribe must be cool headed."
"You're not my master," Liam grumbled, shoving Stiles' hand away and continuing to glare.
"No. I'm not. You're right. Your master is plotting something in the study. So go fetch him a drink." Stiles waved him off, but Liam only seemed to grow red with anger and embarrassment. He took a heavy breath, as though about to scream. Stiles frowned and pointed to the ground. "Heel!"
Either the volume or the word startled Liam, but either way he deflated back into his usual confused and jittery self. Stiles turned and walked away before the scribe could realize he'd made another dog joke.
Okay. So Scott was doing something in the study that he wanted Stiles not to be present for. Surprise party or secret county work, Stiles supposed he should honor his friend's wishes. That's what friends did, right? Well, usually Stiles would bug Allison either way, but he was a noble now. He should… act… like it?
The yard was alive with a dozen volunteers tending to animals. It seemed groups had coordinated to come out all at once to care for the horses and dogs. Each animal was getting the royal treatment – bathing, grooming, and lots of cuddles. That sort of nixed the horse riding idea. The dogs had plenty of people to play fetch with, as was evident in the tidal wave of dogs running back and forth across their area, playfully fighting over a bone that had been thrown.
Other volunteers were weather proofing the stables, kennels, hutches, and other cages. The temperature was already chilly, even with the sun up. Stiles realized, suddenly, how cold it must get at night and wondered if he should help with the preparations. Except it seemed each area already had someone working on it. He would undoubtedly just be in the way.
Stiles wandered, wondering how exactly someone was meant to play with rabbits, or ferrets, or pigs, since the horses and dogs were currently occupied. He wasn't going to even entertain the idea of playing with chickens. He'd seen them rip a mouse to shreds once, and was not keen to lose a finger.
Fine. He'd just go… hold rabbits or whatever. Carefully. So he didn't drop one and kill it. Or drop it and have it escape. Ugh. He'd just wanted to go riding.
He rounded the ferret house and the rabbit hutch came into view, but suddenly Stiles couldn't walk. He grabbed the ferret house to stop himself from tripping and then took a hasty step backward before his brain malfunctioned and he couldn't go backward either. But he must be hallucinating because standing at the rabbit hutch was Lord Derek Hale!
He was wearing work gloves and filling tiny wooden boxes with hay. As Stiles watched, Derek opened the back of the rabbit hutch and slid the boxes into two different levels. One rabbit stayed in the front of the hutch, avoiding Derek, but the one in the top space dashed from the exposed front of his cage into the covered back to greet Derek with a curious sniff or twelve. With a small smile, Derek pet the animal for a moment before standing back to let the little guy discover his new nesting box. The rabbit wasted no time in hopping in, curling up, and enjoying its new bed. Satisfied, Derek closed the doors and sealed the rabbit away, protected now from the elements.
Derek moved about, gathering the hay he'd dropped while working, organizing the extra boxes and wood, and holy- Stiles realized Derek hadn't just filled those boxes. He'd made them! The extra wood, nails, and hammer were sitting beside him on the grass.
His gut twisted. On one hand, he was happy to see Derek in person, happier still to see him working in the yard with animals. Derek wasn't wearing his normal suits. He wore no jacket, just a long sleeved shirt to keep him covered from the wind. His shoes were meant for outdoor work, not style. He looked closer to the mailman he'd posed as all those months ago than to the noble he was meant to be. He still looked unfairly handsome, though.
On the other hand, Stiles was confused and still a little hurt. Why was Derek there? And he still had no answer to why Derek hadn't come sooner, why he hadn't written. Stiles took a hesitant step forward, fighting himself on whether he should call out to Derek, should talk to him face to face. Or he could turn and run away.
Scott popped into his mind and he cursed softly. His friend had known Derek was there volunteering. Take a walk, indeed. He'd known Stiles would run into Derek! This was a set up! Stiles didn't know if he was angry or impressed, honestly.
His cursing, however, drew Derek's attention, and he no longer had time to be anything other than caught. They stared at each other, neither moving or speaking, for several long moments. Stiles could still run, he rationalized. He could still leave. But no, he couldn't. He wasn't that big of a coward, and that wasn't a very Baron-ly thing to do.
"Hello," Derek said, speaking first. He set his gloves aside with the hammer and nails, freeing his hands. Before Stiles could properly admire those hands, however, Derek folded them behind his back and cleared his throat. "I—"
"Why are you here?" Stiles asked, interrupting. Belatedly he remembered propriety and added, "Lord Hale."
The title made Derek wince slightly. His whole face pulled into a deep frown. "My sister told me she'd met you at the theater… that you were alive. I swear—"His arms tensed and Stiles imagined he was clenching his hands. "I honestly didn't know. I don't know why, but none of your letters arrived at the house. I—" He hesitated and Stiles felt like his heart was constricting. "I received word of your- of your departure from the estate. I blamed myself. I left you with those people. My uncle's letter exposed our relationship. I-"
"Relationship?" Stiles asked, forehead knitting together. "That sounds a bit intense for what we had, doesn't it?"
"Does it?" Derek asked. His eyes widened before narrowing in confusion. The downturn of his lips spoke of a different kind of sadness.
Stiles shifted to stand with his hands behind his back as well, because he couldn't stop the way he wanted to talk with his hands, wanted to reach forward toward Derek, wanted to shake with pent up emotion. Of course he'd always wanted a relationship with Derek. He'd wanted so many things, but his fantasies were always dampened with the knowledge of the real world.
"Think about it. Where were we going? You're in line to be an Earl, Lord Hale. I was nobody. We didn't have a future together." It hurt more to say it out loud than it ever had to say it in his mind.
Derek shook his head. "You were never nobody."
Rolling his eyes, Stiles said, "Well yes. I know that now. But back then-"
Derek took a few steps forward and dropped his hands to his sides. "You managed, with nothing but ink and paper, to draw me out of the huddled life I was living – losing myself in my work to avoid real people. You gave me a dear friend, and then just someone dear. Even if you'd never gotten your title restored, you have always been someone to me, Stiles."
His name on Derek's tongue made his chest ache, and he frowned against the desire to forgive Derek on the spot. Could he believe that Derek had never received his letters? That Derek had just called him dear? But he hadn't said Stiles was dear. He said Stiles made him see real people, that he found someone dear. The morning news echoed in his mind. Lord Hale was interested in marriage with someone. His stomach rolled uncomfortably.
Derek continued, now using small hand motions for support. "I was so relieved to hear you were alive. I- I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I was a wreck before. Yet I was almost worse when Cora relayed your message. I wanted to rush over here, no suitcases, no belongings, not even a carriage if that would take too long. But you expressed a desire not to see me again so I… I stayed away."
He ran a hand over his hair, took a deep breath through his nose. "I know you're probably angry with me. I came to see you against your wishes. But I'd been keeping an ear out for news of Goodwater. When I heard you'd been officially reinstated as the Baron of Goodwater, I couldn't hold myself back. I wrapped up my business and came to see you."
Stiles felt jittery. "How long have you been here?"
A flush dusted Derek's cheeks. "I arrived late last night." He glanced toward the rabbits, unable to hold Stiles' gaze. "I'm sorry. I couldn't wait for morning. I went to see you."
"You came into my room?" Stiles asked, incredulous.
Derek's eyes went skyward, a sure sign that he knew exactly how terrible that sounded. "I- You weren't even really in bed," he argued weakly. "You weren't under the blanket, and one of your feet was hanging off. You looked- You looked stressed. I was concerned. So I just-"
Realization hit Stiles. It hadn't been a dream! "You-!" He covered his face to hide his embarrassment, but it wasn't helping. "You kissed my hand! You pet my hair! You-!" His throat closed up. The letter! Had he really told Derek about the letter?!
In response to his thoughts, Derek reached a hand into his pocket and produced a folded slip of paper. It was Stiles' letter that he'd hidden in the desk, the only one he'd never tried to send. Stiles' heart beat was out of control. Was he excited? Or just embarrassed?
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Derek began quietly. "You wrote that you once dreamt of living in my shadow, or of living with me but without my affection."
"I was drunk on emotion when I wrote that letter," Stiles rushed out. "I'd just found out who killed my father and that I was a Baron and-"
"You would never have had to live those lives," Derek continued regardless. Stiles' heart sank at the words and he reminded himself that he had sworn not to cry over Derek Hale anymore. "From the moment we met in person- no, that is a fanciful thought. When you asked me for a kiss. I believe that was the moment I realized I wanted you in my life for as long as I could have you. You told me then that our positions in life didn't matter to you – that you wanted me either way. Well, I'm telling you now that I felt the same way."
"Derek-" Stiles pressed his lips together. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. He'd told Derek the truth in that study, but he'd also had a long time to think about things since then. "I have a title now," he said, forlorn. "Things are different."
"Not for me." Derek frowned. "One title or twelve – there are ways to manage counties without living in them. You're doing it right now."
This conversation seemed to be heading in a direction Stiles wasn't sure he was prepared for. Was Derek suggesting they start courting? Or continue their previous secret flirtations? Or was he speaking entirely in past tense?
One thing was solid in his mind though. If Stiles was going to admit that it wasn't Derek's fault about the letters and the not visiting and all the things Stiles had held against him, if he was going to let Derek back in, then he didn't want to just continue their old trysts. He would want everything, because there was nothing in his way now… unless Derek didn't want the same.
Derek stepped closer, but he was still not close enough to touch. Stiles felt the space between them like the lake between Goodwater and Gévaudan.
"If I asked you to let me back into your heart, would you?" Derek asked, voice soft and cautious.
The lump in Stiles' throat put up a fight when he tried to swallow it down. He cleared his throat several times and then took a deep breath to give himself time to consider. But what was there to consider? He'd admitted over a month ago that he'd loved Derek. If something or someone had messed up their correspondence so that Derek didn't know where Stiles was, then it wasn't his fault, right? Derek still liked him. Derek wanted him. Stiles couldn't lie about his own preferences for everything involving Derek. A moment ago he'd wanted to admire the man's hands, for goodness sake!
He bowed low to Derek and then stood again, offering his hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to be reacquainted with you, my lord. I am Lord Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Baron Goodwater. You can call me Stiles."
"You're-… who?" Derek asked, the name throwing him clearly off balance. His nose wrinkled and his forehead knit.
"Mieczyslaw Stilinski," Stiles repeated, slowly and teasingly. He shook his hand in the air to draw Derek's attention to it.
Awkwardly, Derek took the hand and they shook. "Oh. Um. Pleasure," he said absentmindedly.
Stiles grinned, gripped Derek's hand, and pulled the lord closer. It was brilliant watching Derek stumble. As soon as Derek found his feet beneath him, Stiles closed yet more space and put his free hand up under the curve of Derek's jaw, his fingertips just brushing into his hair.
"You never left my heart," he scolded. "I tried to kick you out, but you wouldn't move. You're kind of a jerk."
Derek's eyes shut in a way that reminded Stiles of the study. His fingers on Derek's face, neck, and hair were giving the lord such a pleasurable sensation, but he was fighting it. Then, just like the study, Derek opened his eyes and leaned forward. They kissed in the shadow of the ferret hutch, as private as one could be in the midst of a dozen volunteers.
"You scared me," Derek grunted out when they parted, but only far enough away so they could rest foreheads together. One of Derek's hands was on Stiles' face while the other did what could only be called 'searching for wounds'. It moved every few seconds, up and down Stiles' side, over his back, and around his arms. "You don't know. I was- They told me you were dead. It was my fault. I-"
Stiles kept both hands on Derek's neck, because if he let his hands wander then a ferret hutch wouldn't be enough cover. "It was Gerard's fault," he said, using the man's first name instead of his honorable title. "I tried to fight him, but he got in a good hit with the stairs. Anyway, I'm well recovered now. I'll be alright."
Sure, he still ached from time to time, and he was still under orders not to strain himself, but it had been almost two months since his 'death'. He was even walking on his own, though he was sure Deaton would frown about it if he knew. Huh, maybe the head wound was why being this close to Derek was making him light headed.
"I'll be alright," he repeated, more for himself than for Derek.
Derek's hands came to rest on Stiles' shoulders. "I'm sorry." He kissed Stiles again.
"Apology accepted," Stiles said, a little drunk on the moment. He wrapped his arms around Derek and held him close, and it took less than a second for Derek to return the embrace.
He was standing in Derek's arms, warm in the cool air. They had just kissed – twice! And Derek had gotten scarily close to asking Stiles to join in on a very real relationship. Not that Stiles didn't want a real relationship – he very much did – but if Derek came out and asked for one, Stiles might just faint. He hadn't been kidding about feeling light headed.
"I think I need to sit down," he admitted. "Can we go inside?"
Instead of speaking, Derek just nodded and began ushering Stiles back toward the manor. His hand never left Stiles' back or shoulder, and Stiles wasn't complaining. He'd missed this touch, this closeness. It was hard to remember being upset with someone when you loved them so much and you were seeing them for the first time in months.
Stiles almost opened his mouth to say that – 'I love you, by the way' – but he caught himself just in time. Derek had announced an interest in marriage, but he hadn't brought it up in his other confessions just now. Did he want to marry Stiles? Or would Stiles be his official lover? And, oh, Stiles still needed to figure out what to do with the inheritance of his own title.
They stepped inside, and Derek's mouth was upon his once more. Stiles, between kisses, led Derek through the house, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Sure, there was a table and chairs in the room, but they sat on the bed. Derek would not be satisfied until Stiles revealed the proof of his once broken leg – now just a bruise-like mark, and removed his shirt to show the barely yellow ghosts of the bruising he'd had around his ribs.
He touched each one, and Stiles could see him blaming himself more with each spot. Rolling his eyes again, he lifted Derek's face to his own and kissed his nose just to throw him off. "Stop it," he said. "I'm alive and well. Blaming yourself now is like you're still thinking of me as dead."
Eyebrows rising in curious agreement, Derek leaned in and kissed one of the yellow marks instead. The breath caught in Stiles' throat as he repeated the action to the other yellow spots. God, Stiles hadn't fantasized about Derek as more than just being present in over a month. He'd forgotten to keep dreaming of him as physical and passionate. But his lips on Stiles' skin brought back the memory of their last night together.
"Mmm, this is a bad idea," Stiles complained weakly.
"What's a bad idea?" Derek asked, moving his lips to Stiles' throat, his fingers undoing his own shirt buttons.
"I didn't prep for this," Stiles continued, but he found himself helping with the buttons. As soon as the buttons were done, Derek pressed Stiles back with kisses alone to lie on the bed. "God, I missed you."
Derek grinned above him and teasingly paused his hand over the ties on Stiles' slacks. "I missed you more."
For some reason, Stiles felt that statement in his groin and he groaned. "Okay, enough talking. Let's just get on with the terrible, bad idea."
Derek chuckled, but he kissed Stiles right after, and then they finally got to work on removing both of their pants.